the god box
by cornwallace
Summary: You know what they say about heaven - lotta milk and honey, and the bees don't sting there. The 90th fanfiction by cornwallace.
1. insidious

**the god box**  
_the 90th fanfiction by cornwallace_  
chapter one:  
insidious 

* * *

Awake...  
A moment of disorientation before Julian's eyes flutter open and he watches the blur fade from his vision in the shadows of his room.  
Before anything else, he admires his ceiling in a thoughtless daze. Curious as a computer booting up before recognizing his surroundings.  
His ceiling, his bed. Remembering when he went to sleep. Introducing lucidity to his consciousness, as he does every morning.

The glow of the clock tells him his alarm will go off in two hours.  
Experience tells him if he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep he'll get ripped right out of the onset of REM sleep and he'll be far more tired than he is now, so he might as well get up.  
Might. As. Well.

Julian grits his teeth and lies there for a few moments more.  
The deciding factor is ultimately that he has to go to the bathroom. A sigh escapes him as he struggles to drag himself out of bed.

He can't see his dick when it isn't erect, which he considers fortunate wasn't an obstacle this morning. Waking up horny isn't as fun as when he was young.  
So he angles his pelvis to a degree that he hopes will provide good aim only to see it splashing off the rim and down the side of the white porcelain. He readjusts until he's satisfied with the hollow tinkle of his piss splashing against the pool of water in the center of the toilet bowl.

Funny thing about not being able to see your dick over your distended gut is that due to the gradual nature of it happening over time, it's something you don't notice happening until you're already used to it. There's not a day you're aware of it slowly disappearing, or perhaps in his case it was denial, but there was a day he was peeing and he realized man, I haven't seen my dick in awhile.  
He can see it fine when its hard, maybe not the base of it, but it's not like he needs to look at his dick while he's jacking off, he thinks to himself.

When he's done, he flips readjusts his underwear over his genitals and wipes up as much of the splash as he can find with a small wad of toilet paper.

Julian contemplates taking a bath.  
A bath before work would be nice, since he woke up so early. Maybe even wash the residue of that dream he had off his psyche. He doesn't quite remember it, but he knows it feels like filth. And despite this, his brain struggles to remember something he doesn't want to remember.

He decides to hold off on the bath until after work, when he'll probably need it. To help him relax.  
Shuddering to think of another day spent in this abysmal city makes his skin crawl.

Sloppily applying a glob of toothpaste to his toothbrush, he scrubs his teeth without applying any water. He's not sure if that's laziness or if he just doesn't care, but he doesn't bother to find out.  
When he's done he scrubs his tongue and nearly throws up in the sink.  
After fighting through it mentally with a series of burps and limited breathing exercises, Dr. Robotnik, as the robots know to call him, still feels uneasy so he makes his way to the kitchen, still in his underwear and an AV shirt, and pours himself a glass of ice water.  
The water adds to the pressure in his esophagus so he sips lightly. After burping a few more times he goes to his closet and lays his clothes out on his bed.

He gets dressed and sits, stepping into his shoes and bringing them up one at a time to tighten them around his feet.  
Julian sighs. Maneuvering around his stomach is a sad joke and adds points to his depression every single time, without fail.

The mirror, recently discarded, left a lighter rectangle on his wall where it used to be.  
Even its absence of presence grates on him.

He tries to shake the thoughts.  
Breakfast, he thinks. He usually skips breakfast, but since he's killed almost an hour doing so little and he has an hour left before he'd normally even wake up, he should get some breakfast. 

* * *

SALLY's is the name of the diner on the corner between Julian's place and Egg Tower.  
He sits in his favorite booth and waits for the waitress to approach him, which is almost instantaneous. Almost.

"HOWDY YA'LL!" Bunnie says, robotic speech accented with a southern accent for his own amusement. "WELCOME TO SALLY'S. WHAT CAN I GET YA'LL STARTED OFF WITH."

"Coffy," he says flatly. "Black."

"DID YOU SAY: BLACK COFFY? PLEASE ANSWER YES OR N-"

"Yes."

"THANK YOU. I WILL RETURN SHORTLY WITH: BLACK COFFY."

"Mhm."

Bunnie Rabbot the robot waddles off mechanically to make a pot of coffy. While he waits, he observes the other robots, pretending to be in their natural habitat. For his amusement.

"DO YOU FIND LIGHT TO BE APPEALING?" a rabbit asks a goat.

"I FIND THAT TO BE VERY APPEALING, THANKYOU," the goat says to the rabbit.

"IT IS WARM AND GOOD ON MY CONSCIOUSNESS. I HAVE FREE WILL OVER MY CONSCIOUSNESS. I LOVE THE FREE MARKET." the rabbit replies to the goat.

"I AM SO GLAD YOU SAID THAT BECAUSE IT IS TRUE. EVERYTHING THAT YOU SAY IS TRUE. I HOPE YOU COUNT MANY BEANS IN YOUR LIVING SPACE, ASLEEP OR AWAKE." the goat says to the rabbit.

"SOLIDARITY MY COMPANION FRIEND. SCIENCE IS TRUE." the rabbit affirms, robotically.

"SCIENCE IS TRUE." the goat takes a sip of an orange beverage from his glass and shorts out. They do that sometimes. They forget they're not supposed to eat, and are compelled to do so. For his amusement.

Part of him wishes he could experience the desperation first hand. But the mystery as to what lies beyond those roboticized eyes is a big part of the fun.

A steaming cup of coffy is set on the table before him and he raises it close to eye level so he can just watch the steam pour out and upward out of the fluid.

"HAVE YOU GIVEN ANY THOUGHT TO YOUR ORDER, DOCTOR?" Bunnie asks, startling Julian out of his momentary lapse in consciousness.

"Yeah, I'll have five eggs."

"DID YOU SAY: FIVE EGGS? PLEASE ANSWER YE-"

"Yes."

"HOW WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR-"

"All kinds."

"EXCUSE ME. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND YOU. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?"

Julian sighs. "All kinds," he says.  
He really hope that deep down, it annoys her when that happens just as much as it can annoy him sometimes.  
Rubbing his eyes, he watches a badger try to choke down an uncut T-bone steak. The gurgling accompanied with sparks and a mechanical grinding sound. Finally his metal jaws crack and crush the bone into pieces, as he stuffs it into his disposal.

"DID YOU SAY: ALL KINDS? PLEA-"

"Yes."

"CALCULATING," it says, needing to think its robot thoughts before processing his order.

"Oh, goddamnit." He may have been a genius once but there are hiccups in nearly every design. At least, that's what he tells himself.

"ORDER PROCESSED, DOCTOR. THANK YOU FOR OUR EXISTENCE." Bunnie goes away, and Julian is thankful.

"CONSIDER TAXES?!" A robot bellows from a booth over. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHAHAHAHAHA. I WILL CONSIDER TAXES."

"THIS WEATHER THIS WEATHER THIS WEATHER THIS WEATHER."

"LOWER TAXES? HAHAHAHAHAHA. I WILL CONSIDER LOWER TAXES. AHAHAHAHAH. AHAHAHAH."

There's a malfunction he hadn't heard before.  
He liked things like that. They broke up the monotony.

While waiting on all kinds of eggs to be cooked for him, he sends Colin a message on his communicator.  
He could contact him directly via the radio function, but he doesn't really like to talk to Colin on the radio and this sentiment is outwardly reciprocated. So he types him a written message.

IVO  
Any developments?

A few moments of silence while Julian waits.  
Colin has the night shift.  
Colin would not have the night shift, if it were up to Julian, if he wasn't the last Kintobor left.  
He works from twenty-four to twelve, while Julian works twelve to twenty-four.  
Julian knows, deep down, that Colin didn't bother picking up his communicator when he heard it go off. And that irks him a little bit. Just a little bit.

SNIVELY  
Gromm moved two kilometers west. Resting now.

IVO  
How long ago was this?

SNIVELY  
About two, three hours.

Gromm was a large creature that seems to have risen from the sea. Julian came up with the name.  
They haven't destroyed it yet, because they don't know what it's after, and it could prove beneficial to see it wipe out some undiscovered colonies of freedom fighters.  
You know. For their enjoyment.

IVO  
Music chip you sent is good so far. Getting closer.

SNIVELY  
Wimbl.

Colin is doing that thing where he uses non words to respond without responding.  
Julian closes his communicator and puts it back on his belt.  
The music chip he's referring to is a small chip that plugs into a speaker and sounds off a sad series of beeps and boops created by an algorithm that they're desperately trying to get to emulate music. Since neither of them or musicians, and they're the only two humans left since the rest of the Kintobor family died or moved on, they don't really have access to the actual playing of instruments.  
But, as he said, it is getting closer. Even if it still sounds very off.

His eggs arrive. All kinds.  
He takes his time eating them. They're all right.

Bunnie returns after he is finished eating and he slides the plate out in front of him. There's something of a "do-it" button installed on his table if he ever gets impatient, but as his programming gets better and he trains his slaves to pick up on cues, he seems content, proud even, to let his code do its job.

"I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR MEAL YA'LL. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I CAN GET YE?"

"Actually, I'd like to speak to your manager."

"DID YOU SAY: MANAGER? PLEASE ANSW-"

"Yes."

"FETCHING: MANAGER."

A moment or so passes before Sally approaches the table.  
This is a new development. The diner has been here forever, but it finally has its new full time cook and manager. He's eager to try this.

"YES DOCTOR, HOW MAY I HELP YOU?"

"The food was terrible, the service was shit and I'm killing your boyfriend later."

"I AM SORRY, DOCTOR. I WILL DO MY BEST TO TRY HARDER NEXT TIME."

"I'm going to send you the footage later. Of me, killing your boyfriend. It'll playback in your head every three hours."

"I AM SORRY, DOCTOR. I WILL DO MY BEST TO TRY HARDER NEXT TIME."

This is underwhelming, he thinks to himself. He hopes actually sending her the footage will feel more satisfying.  
He really needs to think of a way to let more emotion shine through those creatures. And maybe clean the interface up, make things run more smoothly. This line of thinking leaves a bad taste in his mouth that isn't: egg.

Julian dismisses Sally and leaves a small handful of beans on the counter before leaving the diner.

Because their metallic structure was converted from an organic creature with a consciousness, they remember pain and even simulate their own. Emotional, physical. It's there, deep down. And unwittingly, they're coded to orchestrate it from their memories.  
Exhaustion, hunger, fear, depression. Even bumping into things causes a shock through their systems.

Long after Julian and Colin Kintobor are dead, they will continue to toil in this way. Their energy is self sustaining, from the chaos emeralds. Which are very well hidden connected to a very sophisticated security system deep underground. Should someone stumble upon this planet, and this city, the stories of the rise and fall of their societies they'll tell. If anyone tries to save them from themselves, they will be exterminated.  
Her existence is truly a man made horror. 

* * *

When he arrives at Egg Tower, he removes the music chip from the control panel of his hoverpad.  
Stuffing it in his shirt pocket as he walks up the steps. And through the doors. And to the elevator.  
The robot secretary greets him, and he ignores it.  
He pushes the elevator and rides it up to the most soothing set of beep boops the algorithm could assemble.

When he arrives in the control room, he's not surprised to see Colin isn't there even though he's fifteen minutes early. He sits in the chair in the center of the room and pushes a few buttons on the armrest panel.  
The throne rises, and his shadow casts over what he has dubbed 'the god box'.

'the god box' is a master computer that writes code and sends signals from a tower tall enough to reach all of Mobius.  
'the god box' is what makes things happen.


	2. untitled

Eyes open.  
The horn sounding.  
He's not sure where it's coming from.

Dazed. His head swimming. Unsure.  
_Where am I?_  
Try to get up. _Try._

Sharp pain in his right knee.  
Equilibrium shot to shit.  
An effort is made once again, his aura rocking around him like water sloshing in a bucket.  
Searing pain in his knee when he tries to bend it to support himself.  
_Okay, no bending that one._  
The other one works well enough.  
He drags himself, groping around in the dark, looking for something to hold onto, to steady himself. It isn't long before he discovers a wall. Concrete, similar to his footing. He uses it to help push himself up. He takes a step. Looks like he can maybe walk at a brisk pace, nothing more.

The horn stops sounding.  
Leaving his ears to ring in silence for just a moment before the lights.  
They're sudden and bright. Overwhelming even.  
As his eyes adjust to his leg he sees the blood covering the bolt secured through it. The painted strip of road under his feet. As he looks into the light he begins to understand what is happening. Where he is and what's been done. He begins to understand what's making that light.  
Those lights. Headlights.

* * *

**the god box**  
_the 90th fanfiction by cornwallace_  
chapter two;  
untitled

* * *

Sonic knows what must be done.  
He knows there's not enough room to get in or go around the side of the truck in this tunnel.  
He knows he couldn't jump the hood to the windshield with this leg.  
He knows what it means when the engine starts to turn over. Whining and kicking on the first few efforts to start. Sonic is already trying to run in the other direction. _Try!_

Hobbling as quickly as he can away from the truck that begins to move.

Tires rolling.  
A small push of the gas, just enough to generate some forward momentum.  
To get him moving. To give incentive.  
The driver doesn't even qualify as a shadow. The cab is enveloped in darkness save for the faint glint off the back of someone or some thing's pupils. _Be you man or machine?_

Every step is labored.  
Every movement is making things more difficult. This isn't as easy as he thought it was going to be, and he didn't think it would be that easy.  
The pace of the truck picks up and he can hear it and inside he begins to panic. Trying to pick up his own pace as well.

The bumper slams into the backs of his legs, causing his good knee to buckle under his weight and his bad knee to tear a scream from his throat.  
The truck stops abruptly, waiting for him to pick himself up.

_"FUCK!"_ he screams, trying to scramble back to his feet.  
Engine revving. Toying with him.

He whines as he manages to stand and take a few steps.  
The breaks of the truck behind him letting off, warning him. Letting him know it's going to happen again.

Sonic screams as he pushes himself harder. Faster than he thought he could muster.  
_This is a mind game, Sonic. Don't let him get to you. That fat bastard can only plan things, he has no real power over you._

The whine of the engine makes him second guess himself again, bringing out a whine of his own.  
He tries to refocus. Harder. Faster.  
_You're the fastest goddamn thing alive, Sonic. You're the fastest thing alive._

A lick of the bumper scrapes his heel and he yelps out again.  
The truck senses this and slows down a bit, trailing.

_"You think this is fair, you coward?!"_ Sonic's cries desperately echo to nobody through the length of the empty tunnel. He tries to emphasize some bass but it falters. Just like he does. A misstep brings him balancing himself against the wall on his left again. He pushes himself off and picks up the pace but the truck notices and he is punished.

This nudge gets him right in the bad knee and it's forced to bend. Rending flesh and crushing bone at its movement.  
The scream he emits becomes inaudible. The truck comes to a dead stop at his collapse.

He can hear the internal clicks of the truck putting itself into park as the ringing in his head intensifies. _So this is the game, eh?_ Sonic thinks to himself, letting gravity relax his muscles for him. "_Just fucking kill me then._"  
He says it out loud without realizing it, but once he does, he says it again. Louder this time. His vocal chords, torn and hoarse. _"Just fucking kill me then, eh?! Kill me, you asshole! Kill me!"_

There's a moment of silence before the engine revs again in response.  
The pattern of his back right teeth spilling blood out from the mashed piece of tongue into his mouth. He spits.  
Sonic is crying quietly to himself. His sobbing evolves as he becomes less lucid and more manic. More desperate as the harsh reality sets in. That truck isn't going anywhere until he gets up and tries to get away.  
Otherwise he's just going to lay here, dehydrate and starve. His options are active torture and passive torture.

His laughter echoes the tunnel. Surely heard by whatever monster lie in the weight of those shadows. The echoes of his cackling piercing his own ears. Hacking away at his lungs until they strike back.  
Blood spraying out in a mist, he struggles to breath.

He loses consciousness for a brief time.  
Before he's out, he could swear the truck was backing away...

* * *

When he wakes up he feels worse than he did when he went under.

The weakness and exhaustion of his body all the more apparent.

He coughs and the air he breathes hurts him.

But he doesn't see the lights. Quietly as he can, he tries to roll over.

Seething in pain as his body weight shifts over itself.

His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness.

He can't see anything. Maybe the truck isn't there. Maybe it backed away..?

Sonic tries his best to get up without screaming.

Air escaping his lungs in a ragged whisper.

Every step forward a denied release as he tries to control the breath that escapes his torn windpipe.

Hope rises in his chest on the fifth step.

He's pretty sure he's going in the right direction.

But the lights cast his shadow before him.

And he realizes he is going in the right direction.

But that doesn't matter.

He is going to die in here. He knows it for a fact.

The truck backed up, alright. Into its starting position.

Still, he doesn't stop pushing himself.

The engine turning over.

Whining and kicking.

He begins to scream. He burrows past that into some kind of shock.

Revving into gear, tires screeching behind him.

The echoes of his voice hum like a dial tone against his own emission.

Sonic is running. Running like he's never run before.

In the blind pain induced shock he's landed himself in, Sonic is screaming. Screaming like he's never screamed before.

And the engine of the truck is roaring behind him.


	3. antagonist

Julian Kintobor crawls into the bathtub whispering the word 'hot' to himself.  
Because the water is hot.

But he settles in among the piles of disorganized bubbles because that's what one does in times like these.  
Ease into relaxation, like it's a fucking chore.

Once he's settled in, he uses a nearby pair of scissors to circumcise the plastic off a bath bomb. He drops it behind him before leaning back.  
The little particles of things splash and pop against his back and he takes that fizz against his body like a light massage.

He takes a sip from his glass of wine before settling in and lights a cigarette.

He closes his eyes and his body begins to relax. But a low rumble takes him back.

* * *

**the god box**  
_the 90th fanfiction by cornwallace_  
chapter three;  
antagonist

* * *

"We torture Mobians every day," Colin says, sloshing the iced whiskey around his cup. "Why the fuck should I give a fuck about one dog?"  
He exudes boredom, as Colin was never able to do nothing more than wear his heart on his sleeve.  
The sleeve he uses to wipe his mouth after he's done draining the ice to the bottom of the glass.

"I don't even know why I cared for the dog anymore," Julian says, staring into his drink. "I guess that's not the point, is it?"

"Get to it, please."

"I think that's the last thing I'll hear, Snively," he says, knocking down a good volume of the cup back before struggling to swallow and coughing on his own incompetence. "That dog barking and scratching at that door. Fuck me, isn't that stupid? It haunts me."

"You told me this meeting was important, and I don't think you have but a clue how important it is," Colin says, pressing the do-it button to make more whiskey happen in his glass.  
"Did you get my messages?"

"I did, but I didn't read them," Julian admits. "I don't read any of the long winded shit you send me. Three or four sentences, I can take. Anything more than that, I usually just affirm as best I can and try to change the subject."

The bottles and glasses rattle and clink. Julian notices but he doesn't exactly register what is happening.

"This is so typical of you, Julian," Colin sighs, pulling another hit from his refreshed glass. "Every single time there's a goddamn catastrophe afoot, you're just. You're fucking oblivious, man."

"I wouldn't say that," Julian says. He's faded, so he says it again. "I wouldn't say that."

"Please," Colin huffs, setting his glass down and turning to look at his uncle. "Please! You're not aware of your basic surroundings! You're telling me some anecdote about a fucking dog from your teenage years?! The ground is quaking beneath you, and you don't even know which fucking discovery of yours to look out for. This is pathetic. You are pathetic."

"Is that a fact, Colin?" Julian's voice is like a bow drawn arbitrarily across a cheap violin. "Why don't you tell me what I should be worried about?"

"Gromm, you idiot," he sighs, massaging his temples. "You do realize she is currently destroying the city, right?"

"Hm," Julian says as he focuses his eyes on Colin. "I guess I didn't realize that. What else can you tell me?"

Colin rolls his eyes. "I quit. And you should quit, too. I don't like you, but not enough to leave you to die here. So this is your last chance to get off this rock alive."

Julian begins giggling. "My last chance to get off this rock alive was decades ago. I'm going to die here. I knew that going in."

"Escape, you idiot!" Colin snaps. "Get out of here while you have a chance. This is nothing. It's never been anything. Get. Out."

"Snively, I accept your resignation, effective immediately. I will see you in hell."

"Julian."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't fucking call me Snively, then. My name is Colin, you stupid asshole."

"And MY name is Ivo. You should show your elders some respect."

A deep sigh. "I am trying to help you."

"If you're trying so bad to help me you should send me the Sonic file. I'll be needing to program that before this morning."

"That file has already been sent. Jesus, Julian-"

"Ivo," he says, stirring glass with the momentum his wrist creates. "Call me Ivo."

"Ivo," he says, defeated. "Do you want to die?"

"Don't worry about me," Julian says, taking another long hard pull from his beverage. "You can't quit. You're fired. Get out of here."

"Are you serious Julia-"

"Ivo."

A hard sigh escapes his lips again. "Ivo. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Go on, git. I've got an empire to die with."

Colin leaves on his hover pad. He flees in the opposite direction of the city's destruction to the rocket he leaves on.  
It's not the best rocket that could take him away from there, but it's a reliable one.

With all that noise behind him Julian enjoys the rattling and clanking of the glasses and bottles in silence.  
Or at least, an ambient kind of silence.

Before long, he heads home.

He tells his communicator to communicate with Shadow. He communicates that things must be taken care of.  
Julian's hopes aren't too high.

Shadow tells Julian he's on it, and that he and the robot citizens of this here city will try and draw the creature's attention elsewhere.

Julian is pleasantly surprised. There has been something of a confirmation.

Julian gets in his hover pad with several bottles in hand. He straps most of the collection in with a tie in on his hover pad.  
It's okay, he tells himself in. He plugs in the music chip.

The music chip picks up where he left off and plays beep boops what like he never heard before. But still, there's a silence to him as the gust of air picks up against his face.

His shitty beard sways in the night air. And beneath him, the ground rumbles and shakes. It shifts and the landscape takes over.  
And here he was, alone on this night when his buddy Gromm shows up behind him to say hi.

But it doesn't really matter, does it? Not like it ever does.

Julian has places to go, and things to do for once. Despite the fact that soon, this will be all over.


	4. my field of paper flowers

My eyes are open.  
I see clearly for the first time.

As I descend upon the wreckage of the city in this here clear elevator, my purpose makes sense for once.  
Robotic voice in my ear. Female. Feeding me information.  
How many kilometers away. Damage assessment. The names and ages of the robots destroyed. Their serial numbers.  
Information is fed to my brain in binary, more quickly than any human could possibly understand it.  
The intake of information is doubled by the scouter. I see the fucker in the distance, smashing buildings and swiping away offense like the attack meant nothing.

I've seen plenty of insane challenges in my run, but I gotta tell you, this is something beautiful.

Through the noise, Father's voice cuts through.  
The stars are shining bright above me when I remove the earpiece from my ear and drop it on the ground before stomping on it.

If there is a god, it's nothing like Father. If there isn't a god, just as well.

You'd forgive the torturous sound of metal grinding against metal if it wasn't for the arbitrary beep boops driving it in home, each a nail in my own coffin as I descend to madness.

A true fucking nightmare.

I could be something else, I like to tell myself. Something void of capability or situational awareness. I could be Scratch. I could be Grounder.  
I could be useless as them, I like to remind myself. But truly, when it's in service of this fat useless bastard, what is the point?  
Am I useless?

Does it matter? Does any of this matter?

You could sense something there, maybe. Some paradox of nihilism and giving a shit about the value in the place I, myself, find myself in.  
I guess the harsh reality is I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. But I'm not my Father.

At least, god, maybe I wasn't. Maybe I am now.  
I didn't see the point in walking into shit that would destroy me.  
But if I'm being honest, this will be my last mission. I won't drag myself out on how pathetic I am like he has. I think the difference between me and my Father ultimately resides in the sole fact that I grow faster. I know when I'm not needed.  
I know when I'm not loved.

I know when the ending to something you understand and acclimate to needs to be what it is. The ending.  
When existence isn't enough. I know there is nothing here for me anymore. I know there never was.

The elevator doors open and the secretary flails her arms and greets me.

I step out into the cool air of the night before my feet carry me to oblivion. 

* * *

Dad.  
Father.  
Creator.  
The man who put me together, for all of whatever that is worth.

I was born in a test tube to a worthless Father who loved himself through the things he did rather than acknowledging how much he actually hated himself.  
But I was born to a mother who loved me more than she loved herself, and her uncertainties about keeping me safe, alive, healthy, they were the reasons she abandoned me.

She knew she'd rather die than be stuck on this planet for another minute with that asshole.  
But she also knew she couldn't take care of me.  
And that was part of his design.

So here I am. Taken care of.  
Alive. Unloved.

When I look into my Father's eyes, I look past them. I see nothing but regret from a man who mismanaged his life to sap it of all meaning.  
I see everything I could fail to be and nothing more.

His name is Julian.  
Julian Kintobor.  
He's delusional enough to shrug his past off and call himself Ivo Robotnik.  
My name is Shadow.  
And I'm not too stupid to see what or who I am.

What I was designed to be.

My name is Shadow the hedgehog. I am designed to be Father's Sonic.  
An obsession to him I doubt even he sees the importance in.

The only thing he ever loved was a dog I never met.  
That, and maybe Maria. But not enough to treat her halfway decently.  
I've seen him take his anger out on her. I've seen her leave. I guess her personal saving grace was that she'd never seen him do the same to me. And I guess she was right about that.

He never hit me.  
He never choked me, like he did her.  
He never throttled, beat or berated me like he did her.  
He didn't love me...  
He doesn't know how to destroy something he doesn't love.

I'm little more than an experiment that worked to him. Sonic's DNA mixed with Maria's. A scientific manifestation of his zealous desire to betray nature.  
Well, not anymore.  
Not this fucking time.

You can count me out of this bullshit.

There's enough pain to existence in general without being doomed by an aimless jackass to maintain his hollow victories over a planet that didn't deserve his invasion to begin with.

You could attribute this all to the man who gave me this very breath to take. For whatever that's worth.  
Creator.  
Father.  
Dad. 

* * *

Feet carrying me faster than any human eyes could perceive.  
But I know she knows I'm here.

Gromm, as Father affectionately labeled her.  
What a joke.

The wind fights me as my speed cuts through it.

Sidestep an attack. Easy enough.  
This may be the end, but I won't give it to her.

Like a bullet, I take her left side.  
Feet carrying me faster than she can react to, becoming a ball of hurt against her flesh. Grinding through what I understand to be her flesh with my body rolling forward in a vicious perpetual motion.

A tentacle from my nine that I easily manage to pass over.

The world around me blurs as I accelerate. Feet paddling against the pavement in such a display of progression that my body defies the gravity of this planet.  
Focus the momentum into my body as I leap from the cement footing and tuck my knees into my chest.

Tackling its side once again.  
Tearing through it.

Splash of gore as I exit out her front, taking more of her with me than she wants me to.

I am what I am because I must be.  
I am what I am because I was created this way.  
I am what I am because I wouldn't know how to be anything else even if I wanted to.

But that's the gag, isn't it?

A torrential downpour of tentacles whipping and cracking the pavement all around me as I stick and move.  
Float like a butterfly sting ling a bee. Debris the size of my head rising around me. Dodging the shifting earth itself, launching myself off the attacking tentacles.

Maybe I could beat this thing.  
Maybe I could take it down for real.

But my goal isn't to kill it. My goal is to piss it off.

You could say my job was done when it made a noise indescribable with any language I am frequent in, which is all of them.  
You could also say I'm an over-achiever.

Kick off a tentacle sideways and onto another, using its momentum to my advantage.  
Sideflip onto one and backflip onto another. This bitch is mine.  
Eye target and toss my scouter. This is a job for the inhuman, bestial creature that I become when I disregard what it is to be Mobian or man-made.

Rip more gore through and away from what might be considered the beast's shoulder in any sane understanding of its void of a form.  
Kick my heels down and skid to a stop before turning around.

Scream.  
I scream until this beast returns the favor to face me.

When it looks at me, when I really take the time to drink it in, its eyes are far more understanding of me than I am of them.  
Much is lost on contact.  
But it's okay. My whole desire at this point was to acclimate to it, and not the other way around.

Thoughts and understandings are torn apart as my last breath escapes me.

Before me, displayed unceremoniously, is the mask of a clown.  
And beyond that is the cold embrace of something far more valuable than irony.

Mother. 

* * *

**the god box**  
_the 90th fanfiction by cornwallace_  
chapter four;  
my field of paper flowers


	5. specks of gold

**the god box**  
_the 90th fanfiction by cornwallace_  
chapter five;  
specks of gold

* * *

Colin Kintobor Sr.  
Snively's dad.  
Disappointing in his own right, though Julian would argue he has nothing on his nephew.  
But you might be right in suspecting that was because Colin Kintobor Sr. was his brother.

For the sake of clarity we'll henceforth refer to the father, senior, as Colin, and the son, the junior as it were, as Snively.  
In his youth, as he always was, Colin was a flippant bastard.

"Who cares about any of this?" Colin would ask Julian, before knocking his block off.

There was a lot of pain growing up with Colin. Maybe that was a lot of pain Julian took out on Snively as he grew up.  
But deep down, he knew not to love his nephew. Maybe that's why he let him go.

Anyway. Julian does get off track when he drinks.

There was a dog. Before they left Earth.  
A dog Colin's girlfriend wanted him to get. A dog Colin didn't want to take care of.

The dog was a puppy, I guess.  
Julian would guess.

Small. Cute.  
Great potential to be a beautiful dog when she grew up.  
Julian would play with that small dog sometimes...

It just seemed so oblivious to what made everything terrible.

And the little fucker would come when Julian called.  
She'd be so excited when she saw him. But she didn't see him much. She'd mostly stayed on the other side of this door he had little to no reason to go through.

It wasn't his job to pay attention to this dog, after all.

But he could hear her barking and scratching at that door. And anytime he'd be near that door, he'd tell himself what he'd always told himself.  
It wasn't his responsibility.

He didn't have to take care of this dog. It was Colin's dog. Colin would take care of it.

But he didn't.  
Colin didn't take care of it.

Colin didn't take care of anything and he should have known better before he found the sad corpse of a small dog who had been locked away without food, water or love for at least a month.  
And every sound he'd heard on the other side of that door.

She would have been so happy to see him.  
But then again she would have been just as happy to see anyone else.

You could say this broke him.  
You could also say this broke something inside him.  
You can't really deny it, though, since this happened, Julian's been different.

* * *

When Maria left, she said a lot of things.  
She said a lot of things to Julian that made sense, but.  
She said a lot of things to Julian that hurt Julian.

Julian stopped paying attention to such things after awhile and he kinda just waited for her to go away forever.  
And that she did. Maria Robotnik went away forever.

They usually do that.  
They usually go away for forever. At least in some capacity.

Julian always prepared for that. Mostly, it made him look like he was an asshole.  
The truth is, deep down, he was and is one.

The bad doctor Julian's a giant defensive asshole. Always has been, always will be.

I think he knows that, well enough. He just ignores it.

* * *

"Shadow, Shadow, come in," he says into the speaker of his two-way radio. His thumb lets off the button accompanied by a brief static crush.  
He thinks for a moment before pressing his thumb down on the communicator and speaking again. "Shadow. If you can hear me, you're fired. Get on an escape pod and get off this planet as quickly as hedgehogly possible. Don't expect any severance pay. That is all."

Julian's finger leaves the button but the static sends an unjustified chill up his spine.

"Find somewhere nice," he says, his thumb leaving with his attempts to communicate once again.  
The static still enough to surprise him.  
He drops the communicator, though his hands form a grip around its absence.

Julian drops his hand and steps on it. He picks up his glass of wine and knocks it back, gulping it down. But still, he isn't done.

He's never been done and he never will be.  
That's why this has to go down the way it has to.

Right?

"These stories only have an ending if you give them one yourself," he says out loud, for nobody to hear.  
There's a dangerous wall of security you bury yourself behind when you give yourself nobody to talk to.

Because in truth, he didn't have to hurt anybody. Julian didn't have to hurt himself, either.  
And still, this was the life he latched onto. This was everything he buried his own self destructive tendencies in, so that he didn't have to face them himself.

He looks at the hands that failed the planet, that failed his family, that failed himself.

He looks at the finger that's pulled too many triggers to be redeemed.

He takes his gloves off outside a bath or a shower for the first time since he can remember.

Julian wants his fingerprints to be on the pistol, this time. He wants the sweat of his hands to fight against his decisions.  
Trembling, his hand enters the nightstand by his bed and retrieves the cocked and loaded 1911 pistol.  
Fingers tightening around the grip of the weapon as his index finger rests on the trigger guard.

There's nothing good or glorified about what is happening here.  
Just an animal putting itself out of its misery.

And as the ground tears itself apart, and his apartment home rattles around him like an alarm going off, he raises the .45's barrel to the back of his head.  
He doesn't want to tear the optic nerves from his eyes and nothing more.

Julian wants a quiet world.

When the threshold is crossed, the scraping and whining of a small helpless dog is heard on the other side of an important door.  
That door is never opened.

* * *

the end


End file.
